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Obsessed TV Report Card: The Americans Blew Me Away

You haven't lived until you've seen Keri Russell, in a leotard and acid-washed Guess jeans, move her Longaberger basket out of the way to visit the bound and gagged hostage in her trunk.

This is what immediately suckered me into The Americans: it's easy to say you're gonna make a show about a couple balancing childrearing with being Russian operatives. But it's not as simple to hold that thought in your head when constructing every single scene--and this show just nails it. The way it arranges for homemaking and spy missions to butt up against each other is so absurdly good. Like, taking out a knife to slice some fresh brownies and thinking hmm, should I actually cross off "kill that dude" from my to-do list real quick?

Plus, there's plenty to satisfy that period-detail eye you honed watching Mad Men--old-school speedometers and malls, heart-thumping stakeouts facilitated without the help of cell phones. (As your blood pressure spikes under the tension, it's hilarious to think that a few hundred miles north, little Carrie Bradshaw is supposedly snapping her gum and bouncing to Modern English tunes.)

Speaking of tunes: just when you're thinking am I a fool to fall in love so fast with this show?, they cue up some Phil Collins "In the Air Tonight" and you're like nope this is meant to be. And then you do a little air drumming to feel like you're part of what's going on.

Last but certainly not least: Matthew Rhys is so damn cute. I'd trust him to keep me off the FBI's radar any day of the week. And I'm in to watch him work on that every week from now on, while Keri takes care of executing the tough faces. Let's put it this way: you could make a great drinking game out of how often she smiles--if you're a teetotaler.

Bottom line: The Americans pilot gets a big red A from me, or this Blue Russian kitty.